


Devil up to Your Wing Issues

by GlitterSkullFairy



Series: While I'm waiting for series 4 [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Chloe gets some answers, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, blood but not violence, not sure if it counts as smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterSkullFairy/pseuds/GlitterSkullFairy
Summary: Follows on from "Those aren't Talking Shoes."Chloe tends to Lucifer's wings and gets a lot of questions answered.(Trigger warning: involves medicinal cutting)





	Devil up to Your Wing Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh look, it's now a mini-series. I'm having way too much fun with all this.
> 
> Don't ask me why I wrote this, I had no idea I have a wing fettish until now. I think I got a bit carried away at the end there. Oops.

Chloe awoke to the feel of silk sheets and the sound of steady breathing beside her. She felt more refreshed and relaxed than she had in weeks. She turned carefully to avoid waking her partner, his arm still draped across her waist. She'd just spent the night with the Devil. Who now had decidedly mussed up hair. She stared into his face, letting her mind wander, letting her brain quietly process all the implications of the fact that he'd told her nothing but the truth. She didn't understand all of it, she didn't know if she ever would, but she felt at peace with it. She trusted him.

He twitched, almost like a shiver, and she reached up to touch his face. It was hot. She wondered if that was a Devil thing, but then realised he hadn't felt like that last night. He smiled, and opened his eyes. “Well, hello.” He stretched and his smile was replaced briefly by a wince, but he ignored it and greeted her with a kiss that made her tingle. She wrapped her arms around his back and he flinched, she even thought she heard a whimper. She drew back.

“Lucifer, what's wrong?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he should say anything.

“It's okay, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I know, it's just... I'm not sure. They should have healed by now. But the pain's actually getting worse.”

“Where? There's not a mark on you. I'm pretty sure I examined you very thoroughly last night.”

“Indeed you did,” he smiled, but then winced again. “How's your brain coping? Are you ready for another supernatural revelation yet?”

“Those aren't going to stop coming then?”

“No, afraid not.”

“Okay, you just missed a perfect innuendo opportunity, you are definitely not well.” She sat up.

“Right. Well, a while ago, my wings grew back. And yesterday, they got a bit shot.”

The blunt, nonsensical version. Except only half nonsensical now. “Show me.”

He got up and stood, naked, at the end of the bed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She sensed his hesitation. “Are you?”

“Not completely, I have few... issues... about the bloody things. But something's not right so... in for a penny...” He rolled his shoulders and unfurled.

She remembered the wings at the auction. They were beautiful, huge and white, though he said they were only a replica. Were these supposed to look like that? Streaked with red, tattered and bent, a few stray feathers falling to the floor. She noticed the difference in an instant; no sooner were they out than he howled and dropped to his knees on the floor, his face a mask of pain.

“Lucifer!” she went straight to him, trying to stop him from falling. “What can I do?”

“Booze!” he cried, waving toward the bar. She grabbed the nearest full bottle and he gulped it down hungrily. “Better.”

She helped him back to the bed, and he lay down on his stomach. “Tell me what happened.”

He gulped some more. “Well, while you were busy being unconscious, they decided to use up the rest of their ammunition.”

She quickly discarded several irrelevant questions and focussed on the most pertinent one. “Did you take the bullets out?”

“I...” He looked puzzled. “I had a lot on my mind.”

She nodded. “May I...” and gestured towards the wings. He nodded in turn, bracing himself. She was very gentle. She found a blood splatter and traced it to its source. It had healed over, but it felt hot and when she pressed it delicately, she could feel something underneath. She came back round to face him again. “Where do you keep your narcotics?”

“I hardly think this is the time for getting high, Detective.”

“Lucifer, your wings have healed over the wounds, but the bullets are still in there and I think it might be getting infected.”

“I'm the Devil, I don't get infected.”

“We can argue about that later, but right now you're in pain and it's about to get worse. I'm going to have to cut the bullets out.”

“Bloody Hell!” He shuddered. “Bedside cabinet. Black box.” She found it (managing not to pay too much attention to all the sex toys) and passed it to him. He started taking things out, and then paused. “I don't suppose you know how to roll a joint do you? My hands appear to be a little shaky.”

“In theory...” Her first attempt did not hold together. He gave her a few tips for the second; it was a little loose, but he said it would do. He propped himself up on his elbows to light it and she left him to smoke while she went in search of clothes and supplies: water, vodka and towels to clean the wounds; another ashtray to collect the bullets; a pair of crime scene gloves she kept stuffed in her jacket and a knife (she shuddered herself at the thought) to cut into him.

“How's the drugs working out for you?” she asked as she returned to him in the bedroom, clothed in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. 

He grinned at the sight of her. “Lovely.”

“Sounds good.” She considered where she could sit, but his wings were huge and didn't leave much room on the bed. “I'm afraid you're going to have to move. There's no way I'll be able to reach around these things.”

He giggled quietly and she rolled her eyes. “Well, you have your innuendo back so that stuff must be doing its job. Will you be okay on a barstool? Gives me a bit more room to manoeuvre and you can lean forward...” His giggling increased as she spoke and in the end she just gave up and pulled him by the arm. “Come on Partner,” she said as she dragged him out of bed. She also found his robe and wrapped it around his waist. He muttered something about being a spoilsport, but she replied that she didn't need to distraction. Eventually she had everything ready and stood behind him, staring at blood and feathers with a knife in her hand.

“Ok. Ready?”

“Hit me.” She didn't. He turned to look at her. “What's wrong?”

“I'm thinking maybe I should call someone for help.”

“Not sure who we'd call. I'm pretty sure no-one's ever done this before.”

Another little thought to file away for later. “I'm just not sure I can hurt you.”

“Of course you can. Would it helped if I talked? Apparently I can be quite infuriating,” he joked.

“Actually it might. Not make me want to hurt you, I mean, just, well, it would help. And you can start by explaining how this immortal thing works with you getting shot.” She started probing among the red feathers.

He scoffed. “Straight in to the tough stuff then. I suppose I might as well get it over with. At least you seem to be making the drugs more effective than usual.” he took another long drag and exhaled slowly. “I'm mostly bullet-proof,” he winced as he felt the knife cut into his flesh, “except when I'm near you. You literally make me vulnerable.” 

She paused, taking a deep breath. “You told me... when you pulled your first disappearing act...” She cautiously pressed a finger into the wound she'd created and felt the muscles tense. Strange to think that something so unearthly was a part of him, responding as any other body part would. “Wait, that doesn't add up- at the recording studio, you saved me, I thought you got shot then, but you just got up.” She pulled, and then there was a clink as she dropped the first bullet in the ashtray. She dabbed the wound the wound with some alcohol.

“Mmm.” he swallowed the pain. “It didn't take effect straight away, oddly enough. Which was why I was so surprised when you shot me. I tested the premise pretty thoroughly though.”

She looked down at her hands, her fingers marked with blood. “So actually I'm the only person who could do this.”

“Not strictly true. I mean, I can still be hurt by celestial weapons.”

“And by celestial you mean...”

“Stuff from Heaven. Or Hell. Ow.” Another cut, slightly deeper this time, and she didn't pause before sticking her finger in to search for the bullet. _Clink._

“Did you really die and get better?”

“Twice actually. That first one was a one-time deal. Second time I had a little help from some friends.” He kept smoking, but didn't elaborate. She decided not to press him how that worked.

“You're brother tried to convince me it was all blood packs.... whoa...” her hands dropped as her brain caught up with that sentence. “Does that make Amenadiel like a demon or something?”

He laughed. “Oh, he'd love that! No, my brothers and sisters are all angels. Maze is a demon.” 

“Of course she is,” she said, digging the knife in again.

Lucifer giggled. “Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?”

“Tempting,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think a clear head is best for this job. I'll get drunk later.” _Clink._ She was starting to get the hang of it now, detaching herself from what she was doing. She quickly found the next spot, dipped the knife in just enough, and caught the bullet quickly. She thought of another question as she located the next wound. “So, why do I make you vulnerable?”

“I'm not exactly sure anymore. I used to think it was part of the package that makes you immune to my powers, but Cain had other ideas.”

She shook her head, then realised he couldn't see her. “Nm-uhm. Not ready to talk about him yet. Definitely need alcohol for that one.” _Clink._

“So sleeping with the Devil is fine, but criminal masterminds are off limits?” He sounded a little confused.

“You've always been honest with me. He lied, manipulated, used me... Anyway. I said I wasn't going to talk about it.”

Lucifer turned and took her hand, a pained expression on his face. “Look, Detective, I'm sorry. He came after you because of me. And, fair warning, he might not be the only one. My life is ...complicated.”

She knew how precious this was, Lucifer never apologised for anything. And she knew he meant it because he never lied. She hooked her wrists around his neck, trying not to get blood in his hair, and kissed him. “You're worth it.”

He smiled. “Good. Now that that nauseating moment's over with, shall we continue? I have suspicion that we've still got a long way to go.”

“Right.” She returned to her position. “So tell me about this immunity.”

“Well you're the first straight woman I've met who didn't want to sleep with me. Though we seem to have remedied that situation.” He grunted slightly as her finger slid between feathers and skin, pulling out another piece of metal and dropping it with the others.

“Very thoroughly, thank you.” He made a much more pleased sound at that comment.

“And of course the whole 'What do you desire' bit.”

“Yes, but why? Why me?”

Another smoky breath, almost a sigh. “Well, once upon a time there was an actress, who fell in love with a policeman and wanted to start a family. But it wasn't working the way it should. So Dad did something very out of character and intervened. He sent Amenadiel, who blessed the actress with a miracle, which turned out to be you.” He'd felt her digging as he spoke, but the clink didn't come. “Perhaps I should have phrased that more delicately. Still with me?”

“Yes.” _Clink!_

“Good, because this is where is gets complicated.”

“Don't you mean _more_ complicated?”

“I suppose from a mortal perspective... details.” He waved it away with his hand. “This is the difficult part. It's probable that Dad made you in order to put you in my path. It's possible that you're still here because you don't have a choice in the matter, you've been forced into feeling things you wouldn't have otherwise felt.”

“So being with you is literally my destiny? Nah-uh. I don't buy it. I mean, why would he even do that?”

“Because he's a manipulative bastard who likes to watch me suffer.”

“Yes, well, that's a given, but how does manipulating my feelings make that happen? Where does this divine plan end up?”

“Not sure. But I do know that torture is a lot more effective when someone has hope, or rather, in the moment when hope is taken away.”

“Mother _Flunker!_ ” she cursed and slammed the knife on the bar. He startled, and got up to look at her properly. She stepped close to him, trembling. He looked so worried. “Don't think like that, don't you ever think like that again. You're mine because I chose you. That day, on the beach, when I first kissed you, it was like there were two paths stretching out in front of me, and I could see my life with you or without you and I made that choice there and then. And yes, there have been moments when I thought I'd made the wrong choice and I shut those feelings away, but they didn't come back because of your Father, they came back because of you. Because of all the amazing things that you do for me. I chose you. I keep choosing you. And nothing in Heaven or Earth is going to take me away from you.”

He didn't speak, his face a mix of emotion. _Good,_ she thought, _let him have a few things to process for a bit._ She kissed him quickly, resisting the urge to rip away the gown and reassure him physically. “And now I need to finish this job so we can get you back to full strength.” 

She continued in silence for a while, letting both of them reflect on all of it. When she started thinking too much about the blood, and he started tensing up again, she decided more conversation was needed to distract them both. “Ok. So one thing I have wondered for ages, but Dan told me not to ask: how did you get the antidote formula when I was poisoned?”

“Well the only person who had the formula was dead, and since it was obvious where he was going, I went and had a little chat with him.”

“Are you telling me that you literally went back to Hell to save me?”

“It was slightly more complicated than that, but yes.” He proceeded to tell her most of the details, including how he'd made the trip to and from his former abode but glossing over the details of what happened while he was there. She was glad of that; knowing Hell was real was one thing, knowing what actually went on there was quite another. She wondered how Lucifer survived there for so long, and wondered even more that he'd risked going back for her.

She asked him about some of the other situations she couldn't make sense of before, and about his powers and he explained all of it, things she thought she would never understand. She thought perhaps he was enjoying the way she marvelled at things she would never have believed before. Eventually, she had worked her way over the entire wing, and there was a large pile of bullets in the ash-tray. She counted them up and made a mental note. _Eighteen. And still only half way there._ She didn't know how he did it. She stroked the crimson feathers, straightening them, running her fingers through them. They were so unbelievably soft and light. But then, everything else she thought was unbelievable had turned out to be real. He was real, a real life angel, her Lucifer. She continued to tend to the wing, her touch turning into a caress. He shivered again, and hummed deep in his throat. She paused, “Sorry, does that hurt?”

“No,” he spoke very softly. “It's not pain.” She tentatively continued and he made more happy sounds. 

“Good?” It was a relief to be giving him pleasure instead of hurt.

He laid his head on his hands, watching from the side with a huge satisfied smile. “Reminds me of Heaven.” Hie voice was barely a whisper, with a trace of sadness in it, but he stretched the wing out wide. It somehow made her think of a cat rolling over to have its belly rubbed. She picked up a clean towel, dipped it in the water and began to clean away some of the dried blood, her fingers continuing to caress him as she worked. He sighed some more, a hint of lust in his breath, and then abruptly lifted his head. “That's enough of that for now. I'm feeling strangely lopsided.”

“Right. Back to business.”

“Just a moment. At least my hands have stopped shaking enough to roll myself a proper joint.” He rolled another while she stretched and tried to shake out some of the tension that was building up again in her own body. When it was lit she continued her work on the second wing. 

He took a deep drag as the first cut stung, and let it slowly, trying to relax his muscles. She could see his head was feeling foggy and knew that now was the right time to be asking him questions, he was a lot more forthcoming than usual. No more obscure metaphors. Except that they never were metaphors, were they? Perhaps that was why he kept things from her, because he knew she would never believe them. 

“So next question?”

“Hmm... How old are you?”

“Difficult to say exactly.”

“How so?”

“Well, humans measure time by the movements of the earth around the sun. Anything that came before that is a bit harder to pin down.”

She exhaled slowly. “I need to stop asking questions like that before my head implodes.” Another thought occurred to her, “Does Linda know?”

“What, that I'm older than the sun?”

“That you're really who you say you are?”

“Yes. We reached a point where she insisted I be honest with her or it wasn't going to work. So I showed her.”

“Was that when you were ranting about how you broke your therapist?”

He chuckled. “Yes, she didn't take it so well at first. I didn't want to risk that with you too, which is why I put off showing you. Then when I did decide to show you, I got kidnapped and there was the whole mess with my bloody wings coming back, and my other face disappearing... Well, I was having a bit of an identity crisis, and what with all the surrounding heavenly drama, and worrying about your safety, it was easier just to try to avoid the whole issue. And then my face comes back at entirely the wrong moment. It really wasn't how I wanted to show you.”

“I know. But it doesn't matter now.” She bent over and kissed the top of his head. It seemed so natural already, to give him these little demonstrations of affection, to touch him and give him the reassurance he so desperately needed. “Although I'll have to have words with Linda later.”

“To be fair, I pay her a lot of money to keep things to herself. Client confidentiality and all that. Besides, if you refused to believe me, why would you believe her?”

“Okay, fair point. I'll let her off with a caution,” she smiled. “Although there is still going to be a long conversation, probably with several bottles of wine, while I catch up with her properly.”

“Not yet. I'm keeping you here indefinitely.” He chuckled mischievously, then grimaced as she dug her finger in. “Hang on, don't you have a child to run off to?”

“Not for a while. My mom came over to look after her last night, and when I told her I was coming to see you, she insisted on taking Trixie for a week.”

“Smart woman. I've always thought she was remarkable.”

“She has her moments. She doesn't have any idea about this stuff, does she? I mean the whole me being a miracle thing.”

“No. Even Amenadiel hadn't put the pieces together until he saw her when she was here for the court case.”

“When did you find out?”

“Just after I convinced myself that we were real and might live happily ever after. Second worst day of my life.”

“Dare I even ask what the worst day was?”

“Being chucked out of Heaven, obviously. Are we nearly done yet?”

“There's still a few more, I think. Hard to say in all this mess.” She thought for a moment, then made a suggestion. “You know, if you need to go and talk to Linda that would be alright too. A lot's happened in the last few days.”

“Not yet,” he sighed. “Next time I see Linda I'll have to tell her about Charlotte and... that's going to be a difficult conversation.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk about people we've lost. I know you must still be grieving.” She didn't say mother- she realised that the idea of Charlotte Richards as his step-mother was impossible considering who his Dad was, but she also knew there was a lot more to it than that.

“Would you mind if I told you?”

“Lucifer, I keep telling you, you can talk to me about anything,” she replied gently.

So he told her all of it. Or a summary, at least. How his mother borrowed her body, the plan to storm heaven's gates, how he used a flaming sword to set her free (though he didn't say how he got it). And how Charlotte unexpectedly got a second chance of life, and decided to try and do good. All the while, Chloe searched through crimson feathers, slicing, pulling, cleaning. The gloves were covered in blood, and she was glad she'd decided to use them. Not so much for hygiene, but simply because if she had this much of her lover's blood on her hands it would have been so much more disturbing. Sometimes he paused, shuddered or made a small sound, but she ignored it. He was not the sort to be fussed over.

“Amenadiel's theory is that I got my wings back because I did a good thing, helping Mum. That it comes from a change in me, not some twisted manipulation of Dad. He thought he lost his wings because of his guilt and self-doubt. I didn't believe him at first, but then I found one of his feathers by Charlotte's body.”

“That's why you said she was in Heaven,” she said in wonder. “Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you got them back to save both of us. I mean, it's one thing to take a bullet for your partner, to take this many is a whole other level.”

He moved the ash-tray full of bullets closer, and started lining them up on the bar. “Thirty-one.”

She handed him another. “Thirty-two.”

“We can make you a matching bracelet and earrings,” he smiled, proudly.

“Maybe I'll frame them. Keep them on my desk at work.”

“And how will you explain that to your colleagues?”

“Maybe I'll just say they remind me of my guardia-”

“DON'T say it!” he interrupted her, holding up a hand for emphasis. “It's bad enough that I can't get rid of these things, I couldn't bear it if you started calling me that.”

She was a little surprised by his reaction, but after a moment's thought she realised why. “Sorry.” 

He took another few drags in an uncomfortable silence. “I didn't mean to shout at you, Detective. It's just...”

“It's okay, Lucifer, you don't have to explain. I can't even begin to imagine everything that you've been through. We still have a lot of things to work out. I'm in love with the Devil, it's bound to get complicated. But it is real, and I'm not going anywhere.”

He didn't answer straight away, just breathed slowly. She realised this was the first time either of them had used that particular word in relation to their feelings. She let him absorb it for a while, adding another two bullets to the line before he answered. “Thank you.”

Quietly, she finished her work. “Thirty-six and you're done. Would you like me to clean you up a bit? You're still a little ruffled.” Understatement. But she didn't want to add insult to injury.

“That sounds wonderful,” he replied, turning, “but there's something else I'm going to need you to do first.”

“What's that?” she smiled.

“Go away?” his brow furrowed. “Not like that, it's just that you've just sliced me to pieces and I'll heal a lot faster if you're not here. Maybe half an hour. I'll call you as soon as the bleeding stops.”

She nodded, disappointed. “I have an overnight bag in my car, how about I go grab that. I can call and check in on Trixie while I'm there.” 

“Lovely. Before you go...” she turned back, and he placed his hand behind her head, pulling her towards him and kissing her deeply. “Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere either. I'm not exactly a flight risk in this condition.”

She laughed. “Okay. See you soon then.” He nodded and kissed her again before she grabbed her keys and coat and headed downstairs. 

As the elevator descended, she felt the adrenaline leave her body. She was shaking, and realised she hadn't actually eaten anything yet. Maybe she should stop off and pick up some breakfast too. But as soon as she got to the safety of her car, everything seemed to hit her at once. She shut herself in, rested her head on the steering wheel, and sobbed. For herself, for him, for all that they had both been through in the last few days, weeks, years... aeons. It was actually a relief to let it all out. Gradually, she pulled herself together and picked up her phone. She talked to her daughter for a few minutes, which felt very normal and restorative, and then grabbed a pair of jeans from her bag and wiggled into them. She's also brought a much more sensible pair of boots, and walked to a nearby store for sandwiches. She'd almost finished the first one when her phone rang. “Can I come back now?” she answered with her mouth full.

“Are you eating?”

“I was hungry, we missed breakfast. I got one for you too.”

“Thank you. And yes, come straight back.”

When she arrived back in the penthouse she could see he's been busy. He's tidied away all the mess, dirty towels and empty bottles from the night before. And he was carefully groomed again, though wearing nothing but a black towel around his waist. His wings were no-where to be seen. He smiled at her and then held out his hands. “What's for breakfast? I've got a terrible case of the munchies.”

“Nothing special, I'm afraid,” she said and handed him a pre-packaged sandwich. He looked vaguely disappointed but proceeded to wolf it down anyway while she removed her coat and boots and dropped herself on the sofa. “Feeling better?”

“Mmmm. Much, thank you.”

“Maybe I should check, you know, just to make sure...”

He sat down next to her, she could tell he was uneasy again. “I...” he started, but then paused. She waited, taking his hands. “I'm very... uncomfortable... about the whole wings thing. I cut them off, burned them, cut them off again... and again... I don't want them. They don't feel like they should be a part of me.”

She touched his face gently. “Up to now, they have always represented what's been taken from you, the principles of Heaven that you despise.” He nodded. “So if you can't get rid of them, then you need to change what they represent, make them your own again.”

“How?”

“Using them to save my life was a good start. That's a very Luciferish thing to do.” They both chuckled, and then a sly look crossed her face. “What else is Lucifer known for?” She pulled their heads closer together, her lips caressing his cheek as she whispered. “Pleasure. Desire. Sex.” Her hands traced the bare skin of his body, tentatively touching his back. “I want wing sex.”

“Is that even a thing?” he said, drawing back slightly.

“You're Lucifer bloody Morningstar, _everything_ is a thing for you. Now, hands against the wall and spread 'em.”

“Oooh, bad cop,” he smiled. “I've been looking forward to that game.” He complied and she followed, trying had not to gasp as he unfurled once again. His own breathing was shallow and quick, betraying his nerves. The blood was gone, she wondered if he'd had them out in the shower or if it just mysteriously vanished once they were healing, like it did in the movies. They were still very bedraggled though. Quietly, she knelt down behind him and started combing her fingers through the lowest and longest feathers. Like brushing your hair, she theorised, you start by getting the tangles out the ends first. He inhaled sharply at the first touch. She's had her hands all over them this morning, but she knew somehow that this was very different. She worked both sides evenly, slowly working up row by row, straightening, marvelling again at the different textures. It took a long time, they were so ridiculously _huge._ His breathing deepened. She slipped out of his shirt, standing so close she could feel the warmth of him on her skin. She pressed fingers deeper, feeling the layers of softness, and he gasped and arched his back. She stayed there a while, breathing into his shoulders, her breasts not quite touching his back, hands kneading. Then she traced along the top of the wings, feeling the muscles, drawing closer as her arms stretched wider until their bodies were touching, feathers tickling her hard nipples. She kissed the places where feathers met skin; his wings stretched in response and he let out a deep moan.

His hands were still pressed up against the wall. She stepped back and walked around one wing, pulling it back slightly so that she could see the front as she stood next to him, and repeated the combing process, straightening, caressing. Every touch was sensual and sent tingles through both of them. Then she ducked under one arm and faced him. His eyes were closed, but he sensed her closeness and opened them. He moved in to kiss her but before he got there she quickly ducked under the other arm and to comb out the front of the other wing. By the time she finished he was trembling and biting his lip.

“There, all beautiful again.” She ducked back between his arms. His eyes were glowing red, but also brimming with tears. She brushed one away as it started to roll down his cheek.

He didn't reply, just grabbed her in his arms and pulled her close. She kissed him, full of care and tenderness which he returned. The kiss deepened and quickly developed into an urgent need for one another. Their activities last night had done nothing to diminish the desire they both felt, and after having to hold it back since they awoke their passion was fierce. She let her hands loose on his skin now, feeling shoulders, back, waist. He kissed her as he unbuttoned her jeans, smiling lustfully as he discovered his own silk shorts still underneath. His lips didn't leave her body as he pulled them off, she wasn't sure how he did that, but she managed to grab the condom she's stuffed in the back pocket before they disappeared. At some point the towel had fallen from his waist and she felt him pressing hard against her belly. She ripped the packet open and put on the sheath, unsure whether it was necessary but knowing until they'd had that conversation it wasn't worth the risk.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her as she jumped, hooking her legs on his slender hips. With one hand holding her up effortlessly _(oh sweet Devil strength!)_ he guided himself into her. Then he bent his knees slightly, there was a loud _wumpf_ and suddenly gravity shifted. She was falling onto him, her hair in his face, and she realised with a gasp that her back was on the ceiling. His whole body pressed against her, his hips moving slowly in time with his wings. Her brain was telling her it was all against the laws of physics, but why would a celestial being have to worry about Earthly laws? His hands pushed up on her hips, allowing him to move in and out. She lost all sense of time, enthralled in the sensations of his touch, his kiss, and the throbbing between her legs. He found the spot that made her moan, and worked at it, slowly, deeply, and she writhed against him. Obediently he moved faster, his wings creating a breeze which cooled the perspiration on her flushed skin. His voice accompanied hers, and she felt her climax rising, her moans turning into a cry of “Oh... my... Devil!” as her whole body convulsed. His face contorted as she tightened around him and he let out a cry in response, shuddering.

Gently, gravity seemed to right itself and he lowered them until their feet touched the floor. She leaned into him as her legs didn't seem to be working, and he scooped her up and carried her to bed. He flopped down next to her, covering her with a leg, an arm, and a wing. “So it turns out, you were right. Wing sex _is_ a thing.”

“A very good thing,” she giggled. “Even my teeth are tingling.”

“Good,” he preened. “Does this mean you owe me a favour now?”

“Did you have something specific in mind?”

His grin broadened. “Well, there is a hot tub on the balcony. And there's a scene from a certain film that I've been wanting to re-create for a very long time...”

She faked a shocked expression, hand to her chest. “But Lucifer, I didn't bring my bikini!”

“As I remember it, you won't be needing one.”

She laughed. “I suppose so. But I will need that drink you offered earlier.”

“Really? You mean I don't even have to beg? I thought you'd hate the idea.”

“If you can Devil up to your wing issues, I guess I can embrace my acting career. Seems only fair.”

He stared at her blissfully. “Chloe Decker, you never cease to surprise me.”

She kissed him. “I love you too. Now go warm up that hot tub.”

**Author's Note:**

> So maybe there is a bit of a metaphor here of taking the things I don't like about myself and making them my own, even finding strength in them.  
> I was always kinda embarrassed about the stories that went around in my head. Then I discovered this place and all you lot, and what happens? Wing sex. I regret nothing.  
> Or you can forget I said all that and just indulge yourself in random Luciferness.


End file.
